


The Title of This Fic is a Secret

by starspangledmeatball



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Durmstrang, Extreme bullying, Slurs, additional warnings:, corporate punishment, the gross realism of ballet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-03-17 11:17:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18964171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starspangledmeatball/pseuds/starspangledmeatball
Summary: The story of how Viktor Krum came to be the surly, quiet boy we meet in Goblet of Fire.





	The Title of This Fic is a Secret

**Author's Note:**

> I’m putting Durmstrang in Sweden because it makes more sense for it to be a school that partakes in the Triwizard Tournament since Scotland and Sweden are divided by the North Sea it just makes sense. If you have a problem with this, get out of here with your facts. Also, canon doesn’t say Viktor doesn’t have a twin brother. It just wasn’t relevant to Harry’s story line. Durmstrang is inspired by the Bohus Fortress.
> 
> Mamo - Bulgarian term for Mom  
> Tatko - Bulgarian term for Dad

 

_Run boy run! This world is not made for you_

_Run boy run! They’re trying to catch you_

_Run boy run! Running is a victory_

_Run boy run! Beauty lays behind the hills_

_Run boy run! The sun will be guiding you_

_Run boy run! They’re dying to stop you_

_Run boy run! This race is a prophecy_

_Run boy run! Break out from society_

_Tomorrow is another day_

_And you won’t have to hide away_

_You’ll be a man, boy!_

_But for now it’s time to run, it’s time to run!_

_\- “Run Boy Run” by Woodkid_

~o0o~

For five generations, the Krum family had chosen Durmstrang as their school. Though they were acrobats, they also owned Europe’s largest and most successful circus in both the muggle and wizard world. Bozhur Krum was granted the opportunity to attend the most prestigious and exclusive Academy of magic in all of Europe. Ever since, all his sons and daughters had attended and gone on to do great things in both war and entertainment. Great-grandfather always said the two were closely intertwined, but Viktor never understood what that meant.

In the fall of 1987, Viktor and his twin brother, Vanko, were packed up and sent to Durmstrang. Two months before, they were asked what path they wanted to take. Ballet or wrestling. Both would aid their training in the art of martial magic. Vanko chose ballet because he claimed they would be surrounded by pretty girls and that he already had a head start. Since they were small, Viktor and Vanko had learned the art of trapeze and tightrope from their brother Nikolai, who was twenty years their senior and had already taken over running the circus. Viktor chose ballet so that he wouldn’t be alone. While Vanko had a zest for life, Viktor was shy and preferred his books, though, he did have a love for Quidditch. Not as much as Vanko, but he was good at it, if he were being humble. He could find the snitch in a wheat field on a golden afternoon and his balance in the air, whether on trapeze or broom, juxtaposed his clumsiness on land.

Tatko was busy, so Mamo took the Portkey with them to Sweden and then the train from Stockholm to Karkpunki way up North. Their sister, Milena, might have taken them if she hadn’t graduated that year. Their three siblings had made their mark on the school, so Viktor and Vanko had higher expectations held for them.

“You have everything packed?” Mamo asked. “Remember, mail collection is once a month so you will not get it right away.”

“Yes, Mamo,” said Vanko, bouncing in his seat as he watched the terrain. He never could be still.

“Take my hand.”

Viktor took her right and Vanko took her left.

“Remember,” she said, “people will hold your Roma ancestry against you. Student and teacher alike. You will have to work twice as hard to prove your worth. Do not step out of line, there are ways you can defend yours and my honor. Professor Karbashewski will guide you as she guided your brother and sisters.”

“Yes, Mamo,” they said.

She squeezed their hands. “I love you both. You are strong and you can do this. Your father and I believe in you.”

They gave her a giant hug goodbye at a large lake where boats were waiting for the groups of students to board. Viktor and Vanko held hands as they were led to one. As soon as they sat down, bags were put on their heads and drawn tightly shut. Viktor tried to lift his, but found he couldn’t and the drawstring had disappeared.

“Students,” a witch said in Swedish. “Hold on tight, do not stand from your seats. The bags will be removed as soon as you reach your location.”

Vanko tightened his grip on Viktor’s hand. It almost felt like they were being kidnapped. It was not something they had experienced, but Viktor read about it and was often warned about it.

“They are always after cute children,” Grandmama would say.

“So why would they want us?” Viktor had replied.

It felt like ages before the boats jolted to a stop. The bags were removed and rising before them was Durmstrang Academy, a stone fortress clutching onto the side of a cliff out of sheer willpower. They weren’t even in the lake they had started in, this one had walls of mountain surrounding it and three large ships moored on a rocky shore.

It was the epitome of isolation.

Trembling slightly, Viktor climbed out of the boat and flinched when the cold water shocked his skin up to the knee.

“It’s just a fear tactic,” Vanko whispered. “I bet it’s going to be great.”

~o0o~

Durmstrang was a living hell. At five in the morning, every day, the students were roused from their beds and pushed into their morning workout. If there was a blizzard, they would run the obstacle course indoors, but if it wasn’t, then they would run along a trail carved into the rock. It was treacherous and Viktor and Vanko had often faced someone attempting to shove them over the edge. Breakfast was porridge served with a protein on ceramic plates. Lunch and dinner were… edible? They did not eat for enjoyment, they ate to fuel their bodies. Headmaster Karkaroff made sure that his students knew they were put on this Earth to be useful. To be functioning members of society upon graduation. To conform to an image that he had cut out for them. Step out of the mold and he would take you into his office.

Every student received lashings from him. His favorite spot was on the forearm, but sometimes, in a blind rage, he would nearly take some child’s eye out.

Ballet was more brutal than Viktor could have imagined. Their instructor was a woman, Kveta Antonov, who was not happy until you could perform en pointe perfectly with broken toes and bleeding feet. Vanko’s charms did not stretch far, but he refused to let the institution break his spirit even when he had to remove his own toenails after Madam Antonov forced him to perform “Pas de Deux/The Prince and the Sugar-Plum Fairy” with Marina Gospod for four hours straight, and still got up for the morning run.

When Viktor joined the school Quidditch Team as Seeker, he was worked twice as hard. The little “Gypsy boy” wasn’t about to drag them down against the opposing Slavic wizard schools.

Mamo was right when she said their Roma ancestry would be held against them. If anything went missing, they were blamed; older students approached them asking for love potions or fortune readings; and they always got singled out. They got good at duelling and even better at remaining so far ahead that they cleared the rug before it could be pulled from under them.

But sometimes… they weren’t fast enough. Sometimes, it was the oldest students who were after them. Chasing them through the halls, ready to practice a new spell.

“I know a place,” Vanko panted to Viktor. “Come on.”

The pair ducked into the mess hall, raced through the kitchen, and skidded to a stop at the trash chute.

“No,” said Viktor.

“Do you want to be used as target practice?”

Viktor heard the shouts behind him and didn’t think twice before diving down the chute. He and Vanko were skinny enough that they just fit, but the big kids wouldn’t. Trash removal wasn’t until the morning, so they had about two-weeks worth of garbage to cushion their fall.

The twins lay there on the garbage heap, working hard to breathe through their noses so the cold January air wouldn’t freeze their lungs. They would get in trouble, but if they went inside now, they would have only delayed the inevitable. They would never mention who chased them to this spot and that might earn them some temporary respect, and by the time they lost it, they would be ready to fight back.

Viktor shivered and closed his eyes. He was so tired. He wished he had his school issued coat to keep him warm. A light snow started to fall, but neither boy moved. Whether it was because they were scared to, or simply couldn’t, would not be seen. They huddled together until they were no longer able to keep track of time in the sunless winter and by then, they had fallen asleep.

“Krum… Krum!”

Viktor blinked awake to see wand lights shining in his eyes.

“What are you two doing in there?” Professor Volinin snapped. “We have been looking for you everywhere when you did not report for evening roll call.”

“I got stuck under a trash can,” Vanko rasped, ever the jokester even in the face of trouble.

“And how, pray tell, did that happen?”

"I don't know how I got stuck under there. It was just a … uh, hilarious chain of events."

Professor Karbashewski hummed. “Well, you can explain while we get you to the medic.”

Viktor coughed violently and shuddered as he was moved. His fingers and toes felt as if they might break off with the slightest jostle. As it turned out, the dumpster in the dead of winter was not a good hiding spot from illness.

The two boys got worse and ended up needing to be sent home to recover. Bulgaria was warmer, even in the winter, and the Professors agreed that their family physician knew best how to cure them. Viktor spent nearly every day in a blur, his fevers causing nightmarish hallucinations. Mamo and Tatko were so worried and whenever he was lucid, Viktor saw them there. Except once when they could no longer remain awake to watch over their children.

Two weeks into their illness, Viktor was curled up and hugging his favorite stuffed animal. A little bear/dog hybrid named Misha. He shivered from chills, but he was lucid. Vanko was not. His brother was smiling dreamily and would croak a word here and there.

“Grandfather…” Vanko whispered, stretching his hand out.

At first, Viktor thought it was him trying to be funny. Make light of the situation they found themselves in. A pit opened up in his stomach when Vanko frowned.

“Can I say goodbye to Viktor?” He paused as if listening to an answer, then turned to Viktor. “You were always much stronger than I was. You’ll do great things, brother. Tell Mamo and Tatko that I love them.”

Viktor tried to ask where he was going, but the cough had stolen his voice. He reached for Vanko’s hand, but couldn’t grasp on.

“I’m going to the circus…”

The light faded from Vanko’s eyes and his outstretched hand slowly fell to his rest on his stomach.

Viktor opened his mouth in a scream, trying to beg for his brother to come back, but no words came out. Tears pooled in his eyes and he buried his face in Vanko’s shoulder.

It was hours before someone came in to check on them again.

~o0o~

When Viktor was in full-health physically, he returned to Durmstrang. He didn’t flinch when the bag was placed over his head and he didn’t react to the bullies. He just… stopped feeling and threw himself into his studies, ballet, Quidditch, anything that would keep his mind off the pain in his heart. Since birth, he and Vanko had never been separated. He didn’t know what to do now that they were permanently apart. Nobody else cared what he had to say, so why bother speaking? Smiling? Laughing?

Sympathy had an expiration date and as soon as his bullies felt that he should be over the death of his brother, they were right back to their nonsense. What had once cut him like bear claws was now a hollow act of domination. The words dull compared the knife permanently imbedded in his chest.

Ballet and wrestling for fourth years was held in the same gymnasium. Madam Antonov was having her students practice battus until their legs were black and blue. The pretty music was simply there to hide the brutality of the movements.

“Viktor,” Madam Antonov called. “Step forward. Show me your fouettes.”

Viktor did as she ordered, picking a spot on the wall to focus on as he spun around. Two of his worst tormentors in his year, Casmir and Evgeni, started laughing. On each turn, he saw them dancing on their toes with their arms in the air. Had any of the girls seen their hard work being made a mockery of, they would have ended in the hospital ward. As misfortune would have it, their little show was for him only.

“I didn’t say to stop,” Madam Antonov snapped. “Again.”

Master Marshak did not seem to care about the taunts and jeers, but Master Marshak was an asshole who thought victims of bullying were just thin-skinned.

“Poor little gypsy,” Casmir said. “I wonder whose mail he stole to come to Durmstrang. They must really be letting their standards slip if they let his kind in.”

“It’s not even the fact he’s a gypsy,” Evgeni chimed. “I didn’t know vultures were allowed to attend courses.”

A few girls giggled at the vulture comment.

“Viktor the vulture,” Selma sing-songed.

“He’s so unlikeable,” Casmir continued. “At least Vanko had a personality. You know what I think? I think he died just to get away from his pathetic excuse for a brother.”

Viktor stopped and slowly lowered his leg to the ground. He looked at Madam Antonov, silently requesting permission to defend himself. She nodded lightly and sat down on her chair to watch the scene unfold, as if she were at a production of Swan Lake.

“I don’t know what his father saw in his mother.”

“Maybe she was just that good.”

Viktor picked up an empty chair and smashed it over Casmir’s head. The next few minutes were a blur as he fought the both of them tooth and nail. Had his wand been with him, there might not have even been a bloody mess to clean up in the first place. Viktor faced the rest of his peers.

“I will only say this once,” he said calmly. “I do not care what you say about me, but I think any person who does not show loyalty to friends or are ashamed to admit they have loved ones are pathetic excuses for human beings. If any of you have something to say about my mother, or any other member of my family, I will take a finger for your disrespect. Now, if any of you sad sacks of flesh have anything else to say NOW IS THE TIME!” He bellowed the last part and no one responded, looking only wide-eyed in fear-induced respect. “I didn’t think so.”

Headmaster Karkaroff placed a hand on Viktor’s shoulder.

“Krum,” he said. “Follow me.”

“I will not apologize for what I did, Headmaster,” said Viktor. “Not for a hundred lashes.”

“Apologies are for the weak,” Headmaster Karkaroff sneered. “You are finally showing promise, Krum. It didn’t take your sister nearly as long to stand up for herself. No, I am taking you to get cleaned up. You may use the teachers’ bath today.”

The teachers’ bath was the only one that actually had hot water. Everywhere else was cold showers to help acclimate students to the outdoors. Or so it was said.

“May I ask why?”

“There are Quidditch recruiters waiting for you,” said Headmaster Karkaroff. “They have heard how you catch the snitch in five minutes at each game. They want you now, not when you graduate. You have big decisions ahead of you my boy. You will be the youngest professional player in history, Krum. You may only be fifteen, but you will be famous. Especially when you start helping your team win. Whichever team you choose. And when they see what school you attend, it will read Durmstrang Institute.”

This was Viktor’s opportunity to make his mark. Nikolai had the circus, Diana had married rich and made her husband richer with her economic intelligence, and Milena was rising up as Wizard Europe’s most famous producer with hit after hit performed on her stages. Viktor Krum, youngest professional Seeker in history.

He would do what needed to be done to keep himself significant.


End file.
